Bouquet from Issue 60
When you’re away I sleep on your side of the bed
and smell the sheets where the weave is richest
with your scent─bath-damp hair, armpits, feet,
the alchemic reminders of your sex.
Call me, won’t you? Call me what you will:
pillow sniffer, linen lecher, truffle noising swine,
or better yet, a drowsy drunk who smells
the empty bottle’s cork to tease the tongue
and taste again the flower in the wine.